by Charly Murmann Did I fall for you? I think I may have loved you. Maybe I did. Or maybe I loved the idea of falling in love with you. I fell in love with you. I loved your name: not common, chosen, and mysterious—Attic. I never asked you how…
Recent Writing
I Suspect That Moths and Regret
by Rowan Tate I Suspect That Moths and Regret share a language no one translates. Grief has poor timing and excellent posture; I am learning to walk without finishing the sentence. I am not who I meant to become, but the bread still rises.
A Circle of Solitude
by Lucy Carr I dreamt of the red and yellow wool blanket that my wife, Evelyne, brought back from Morocco. She had purchased it in Tangier just before crossing the Straits of Gibraltar by ferry. I reached down to my calves to pull it across my body, my arms trembling…